Long Broken dreams Poems
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The signs are all around us.
There's something in the air.
Things are gonna happen soon,
Let all Mankind beware.
The winds of change are stirring.
Soon they'll begin to blow,
And what they bring are no surprise,
To Christians in the know.
To those of us who read The Word,
As all good Christians should,
The signs are plan these winds of change,
Will blow nobody good.
The new amendments to our laws,
Are strange and don't make sense.
It seems those we have given power,
Have lost their common sense.
You'd think we'd learn from past mistakes,
And we'd know what to look for;
But we see what we want to see,
So we'll have another encore,
Of all the tawdry politics,
And crime behind the scenes;
Murder, incest, prostitutes,
And theft and broken dreams;
And as our country crumbles,
The devil laughs with glee,
Because we turned our backs on God,
And simply would not see.
the world’s gotten mean, kid—
meaner than the bars I used to crawl out of
at sunrise, smelling like the floor.
people walk around cracked open,
their nerves sparking like bad wires,
no poetry in them—
just pressure,
just the long slow squeeze
of bills and broken dreams
and the ghosts of their own childhoods
gnawing holes in the drywall.
and children—
God, children—
they come in soft,
wide-eyed,
trusting the hands that lift them.
they don’t know those hands
were taught fear like a mother tongue,
taught rage by example,
taught silence instead of help.
you ask why they kill them?
because some people were born
with their souls already limping.
because the world doesn’t fix
what it breaks.
because desperation is a tunnel
without an emergency light
and no exits stamped “mercy.”
and reincarnation—
yeah, that’s a dice game
played in the dark,
the table sticky,
the dealer crooked.
if there’s a next time,
you don’t get a chance
to peek through the blinds
and see who’s waiting to raise you—
you just tumble in,
headfirst,
hoping the landing isn’t
another bad story,
another tragedy printed in ink
too black to wash off.
but maybe—just maybe—
somewhere the wheel stops,
and a kid lands in a house
where the shouting is laughter,
where hands hold
instead of hurt.
until then,
the world keeps spinning,
and all we can do
is write it down,
light a smoke,
and hope like hell
that somebody, somewhere,
learns how to love
before the dice roll again.
In the air floats a strange sense of panic, like a heavy mist settling over the city,
a silent fear and uncertainty that penetrates our bones,
along with the beliefs and truths that were once solid as rocks,
but now melt like ice under the light of a merciless moon.
Institutions, once temples of safety, are now castles of sand,
mercilessly eroded by the waves of change,
and we are left clinging to the shadows of the past,
trying to find an anchor in the tumult of a sea of confusion.
There is a presidential election, like a clock ticking in its rhythm,
but somewhere, in this chaos, the president is missing,
like a king without a crown, a symbol emptied of meaning.
Every four years, the naive half of those who vote
are encouraged to believe that if we choose a good person,
a president with an open heart and a sincere smile, everything will be fine.
But the truth, this deceitful magician, whispers otherwise,
for it will not be. Beneath the smiling masks lie bitter truths,
and promises are just soap bubbles that shine for a moment
in the sunlight, before bursting into the silence of disappointment.
My thoughts flow like a dark river through a landscape of broken dreams,
and I wonder how we came to place our hopes in illusions,
when true power lies in the silence between words,
in those moments of deep quiet when we find ourselves again.
Perhaps, one day, we will learn to seek answers not in the ballot boxes,
but in our hearts, in that blessed anarchy of the spirit,
where freedom is not promised by others, but discovered by each of us,
in a world where we no longer need leaders,
but only an inner compass to guide us through the labyrinth of life.
You said you will come at eleven,
The clock is hanging, hands bent and broken.
You said you will come along the dark pathway,
The candle is burnt, flame taking my hope away.
You said you will come opening the door,
The door is breaking, planks crashing on the floor.
You said you will come to read a poem I wrote,
The poem is crying, words crushing my throat.
You said you will come to put me to sweet sleep,
The sleep is dying, broken dreams piling in a heap.
You said you will come in spring when the sky is scarlet,
The sky is bleeding, spewing my blood at the sunset.
You said you will come through the cloud in the rain,
The cloud is melting, tired raindrops forming in vain.
You said you will come when you own me,
I have you in my open heart you don’t see.
You said you will come when I am gone forever,
I had my ears stuck to my heart, I didn’t hear.
You feel like you can do nothing anymore,
And all of sudden opportunities are not there,
You notice, only, all your dreams on the floor,
And with nothing left, you've closed all the doors
Sometimes, life can be so hard,more than you know,
Yet, there are many good things, for you in store,
You can make it all over again, as it was before,
Don't give up, you got so much more to live for!
Let go of all your broken dreams
Let go from your soul all that pain
Sometimes everything just in vain seems
It takes you long to break from the chains again
Let go of all the broken dreams you know,
Just toss them to the wind, just let them go!
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
copyright@2005-2009
March,12,2009
The sun sank on the transit,
took away colors of the chameleon sky,
the masked face of clever craft
made me walk on the dark garden path.
In the sinister night of broken dreams,
I didn’t hear the footfall of evil.
The devious intent prowled to devour,
as the facade dissolved in darkness.
In the desolate domain of feral fright,
on the murky ground under dreary sky,
as the creature of night you crept,
stalked the haunted me, I couldn’t hide.
A nightrider you slithered from the wild,
unmasked, you morphed into a brute.
Unsuspecting predator on the hunt,
as sinister sly animal of sin you lurked.
With arcane acumen of trickster devil,
as sordid silhouette of menace you crawled
stealthily into the quintessence of my being,
sucked the sublime ambrosia of my soul.
_______________
September 24, 2022
Contest : One From The Dark Side
Sponsored by : John Lawless
I wrote a great book, part memoir, part novel
Shopped it around, I ain’t too proud to grovel
Got kicked upstairs to a big publishing head
He invited me in, and here's what was said:
This screed you call Crack House of the 13 Gables
Is one long rant mixed with recycled fables
It wanders aimlessly, but never resolves
Characters pop out of nowhere, then simply dissolve
But the symbolism, sir, allow me to explain
The Victorian parlor represents pathos and pain
In the attic are mothballed broken dreams and betrayals
It's gonna shift your paradigm right off its rails
It’s a thousand-page odyssey into the surreal
The hedge maze is where all 14 sub-plots congeal
Enough! The only reason I called you in, punk
Is to meet the lunatic who scribbled this junk
So I slunk away, not a little dejected
Ain’t much fun being literarily rejected
Trudged back to my grueling, stale coffee grind
Working 15-hour days, going out of my mind
Then one day I met an old pal for some beers
Hadn't seen him in quite a few years
I told him about my rejection slip wrangle
He said buck up, you just need the right angle
I like reading novels, now don’t get me wrong
But writin' 'em, man, that just takes too damn long
And what a huge risk, 16 years you devoted
For no payday at all, just your ego imploded
There's no need to pen the next Moby Dick
Try something short, now that is the trick!
So, I thanked my friend for his most sage advice
And took it to heart without thinkin' thrice
And now I am back as a voice for the ages
Except I'm makin' my mark in far fewer pages
I write sound bites and maxims and pithy remarks
T-shirt slogans and jokes, I just do on a lark
I bang out poems and lyrics at the drop of a hat
Dash off 17 syllables in ten seconds flat
Haikus by the bunch
Cook up a batch before lunch
Put that in your pipe
____________________________
For Humor Contest
Sponsored by: Carol Eastman
i don't cower to death, he had me in his grasp
faltering through the sudor of illness
my heart beating slower than time's hands
like a worthless clock on the wall needing replaced
ashen flesh bore his mark, a kiss against my blueish lips
somehow missing his quarry, while i awaited my wings
he still abides in the dumping ground of memories
with promises broken, love unspoken, and heartless liars
in a dashboard of broken dreams long abandoned
that stalk my existence, awaiting to be restored
to recommence through the pathways of my mind
as more than just unused rusted out frames of thoughts
that only resurface in the outburst of downcast eyes
when the shadows of sorrow grapple my emotions
as he purloins another from existence before me
I don't cower to death, he had me in his grasp
the attrition of time has left me emotionless
unscathed by his touch yet numb beneath his kiss
through past's rear-views as i unwillingly await my wings
October 4, 2019
My Favorite Junkyard poetry contest
Sponsored by Craig Cornish
HOLD UP THE SKY
When the nights are starless and the days cloudy
Journey through vale of life isn’t what it’s meant to be
When the flowers turn pallid and the trees brown
On barren garden trail in secret tears of toil hopes drown.
When the road you travel is sorely long and the time finite
At the end of the dark tunnel of turmoil don’t see the light
When you’re in the wasteland in stormy nights of destiny
The splintered sky is falling all around you, you sadly see.
Without questioning the supreme designer and His ways
Wait for the glitter of the starry nights and the sunny days
Without complaint take the transient time of His as it is
Wait for the spring of the smiling flowers and the green trees.
If under falling sky your broken dreams lie in dejected debris
Travel within, search the soul and the divine light you’ll see
Surrender totally to His power, His will you devoutly comply
And you’ll get the inner strength you need to hold up the sky.
Written : March 18, 2019
March 31, 2020
Contest : Strand Choice V, Any Form, Any Theme
Sponsor : Brian strand
The young mind weaved the tapestry of dream
as an expectant mother floating on the wings of cloud nine.
The flower of future she conceived in the realm of desire
caressed gently with soft petals as it bloomed within her.
Longing to see a part of her became reality she waited
with the heart filled with embedded excitement dormant,
that melted away in the nightmare of relentless tears,
for the premature new life was born still.
Her mind took time to rise from the debris of sorrow
to perceive the dented desire of motherhood return.
She counted the agonizing months once again,
spent unsure days in the fear of losing another part of hers.
Her trepidation ended with the first cry of the child in her arms,
the joy of possession flowed like a surging stream in flood,
but it dried soon at the cruel dawn of the smoldering reality,
for the child was born with an impaired brain.
Covered with the encompassing dark dust of despair,
and entangled with the splinters of the broken dreams,
she waited to traverse the tunnel of bleak future to measure
the depth of her misery in the dismal abyss of destiny.
______________
(It is a true story)
February 5, 2021
Contest : Break My Heart, Why Don't Cha
Sponsor : Edward Ibeh